"Damn," Nisha says, hanging by one hand now as she points a finger in Tuesday's face, speaking with absolute surety. "Broken bones are, like, super romantic, dude." She hefts herself up onto the branch she's been dangling from and reclines on it. "Way more romantic than a ribbon? Like, a ribbon's nice and all, but LOVE is PAIN." Or something like that. Nisha probably is not qualified to talk about love.